With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) (9 page)

“About the other night,” Camelia says when Yasmin and Charlie are out of earshot. I pause warily, but Camelia looks wry instead of pouty. “I apologize for coming into your room uninvited. It was inappropriate.”

I wonder if she’s heard that I have to fire someone. Randall told me not to talk about it and I haven’t, but gossip on the ship is hard to contain. Or maybe Camelia just genuinely wants to make amends.

“You were drunk,” I say, accepting her apology with a shrug.

She makes a face. “I was a shark, attacking you.”

“A sexy shark,” I say, and we laugh. The awkwardness between us dissipates, and we head into the Promenade to catch up with Yasmin and Charlie.

Passengers are already lined up in the atrium, ready to embark on their shore excursions. We move past them, check out with security, and head down the ramp. Crossing the pier, we set up on a concrete plaza that affords a fantastic view of the cruise ship. From here, we’ll snag passengers as they leave and snap their photos, either by themselves or with Yasmin or Charlie beside them, along with the ship in the background.

We work for an hour. Yasmin is, as I’d figured, particularly popular with groups of guys, either teenagers blushing with their parents, or college guys she flirts easily with. One group, a fraternity from Maine State, asks for photos of each of them individually with her. She plays along, posing sexily with them and chatting about her sorority, Kappa something. I finally shoo them away so we can grab more passengers, but not before the frat guys promise Yasmin they’ll buy her drinks later at the ship’s nightclub, Studio Caribe.
 

“FYI,” I can’t help saying pointedly when they’re gone, “sleeping with passengers can get you fired.”

“Shove it, West,” Yasmin replies, her voice so sweet that for a second I don’t realize what she’s said. My eyes narrow, and I almost reprimand her for insubordination, but more passengers show up, forcing my focus back to our work.

Near the end of our shift, I spot Randall walking down the pier. He pauses off to the side, watching us, and gestures to me after I send a pair of newlyweds to meet the bus for the ruin hike excursion.

“Take a break for a sec,” I tell Yasmin, and step over to my boss.

Randall walks with me to the shade of a palm tree and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“West, my boy,” he starts off. “Everything okay after the rogue wave last night?”
 

“No one got hurt, thankfully, and no equipment was broken. We also made sure to incorporate the wave as a selling point for pictures.” I explain my idea to have the passengers pose tilted in their Formal Night finery, which draws a smile out of Randall. “Sales have been up already.”

“I’m impressed by your calm and quick-thinking efficiency. I’ll be sure to mention it to Corporate. Keep it up, and that job in Miami could be yours.”

Hope rises in my chest. “Does that mean I’m your pick, sir?”

“Well.” He gives a throaty laugh. “I’ll be honest with you, son. There are a couple other department heads in contention, but you’re at the top of a short list. A very short list.” Slapping me on the back, he heads off toward a line of waiting taxis.

My mouth stretches into a grin. That job is almost within my grasp—I can feel it.

I’m in a great mood as the final trickle of passengers dries up and I let my team go for the rest of the day. After I change in my cabin and sling my camera bag over one shoulder, I decide to walk around town. I’ve been here in Portales a dozen times already, but I always manage to find something new to photograph.
 

First, though, I promised I’d meet Owen for a drink. The day is hot and the streets are dusty, and I’m ready for a cold one after a morning spent baking in the sun. I weave my way toward the Blue Lagoon, a dive-y bar that caters mostly to locals and cruise ship employees. Despite the fact that it’s barely 1pm, the place is already hopping with crew staff taking advantage of what is, for most of them, a rare few hours off. None of us get weekends or holidays, but the shops and casino on board have to shut down whenever we’re in port. And so, with the passengers off the ship for the day, it’s most people’s only chance to kick back.

I find Owen leaning against a cocktail table, already several drinks in. Whiskey, by the looks of it. After we say our hellos, I fill him in on what Randall said about the corporate job since Owen is one of the few people who know about the open position. I expect him to congratulate me, maybe even buy us a round, but instead he shakes his head.
 

“Dude,” he says. “They’re playing you.”

“What do you mean?” Owen’s never been all that encouraging about my goal of going corporate, but until now he’s never said anything against it either.
 

“Dangling that job in front of you like a carrot so you’ll work harder. I’ll bet you fifty bucks they wind up promoting from the outside anyway. What a bunch of assholes.”

I’m not following him at all. “Why would they do that?”

“Because if you’re working your butt off to increase sales on board, why would they move you somewhere else? They want you making money for them.”

“Randall said I’m on a very short list.”

“Trust me. These people are all alike. They’re gonna pick a green MBA grad whose daddy knows someone.” He finishes off his latest drink, lets out a belch, and heads back towards the bar. My gaze follows him, his words stinging my ears. Could he be right, or is he just hammered?
 

A waitress stops by my table and takes my drink order. At the next table over, I notice Yasmin hanging out with a few members of the
Radiant Star
crew. Next to her is Elise, a hospitality staffer who sometimes borrows members of my team for on-board weddings or private VIP events. I sip my beer and think about what Owen said, but can’t help overhearing Yasmin’s conversation.

“Wow, you have a scholarship for a Psych Ph.D lined up?” Elise says. “Good for you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yasmin says. She sounds more embarrassed than proud.
 

“It’s awesome—why the heck are you out here?”

Yasmin pauses, then shrugs.

“I wanted to see the world a little, I guess. I deferred for a year, so I might go back. I’m just not sure what I want to do now.”

I blink. I would
kill
for a scholarship. I finished a few semesters at my local community college before tuition got to be too much to handle. I applied for dozens of jobs before finally landing my contract with Star Heart. Now, I’m trying to save up enough to afford night classes somewhere down the line.
 

And Yasmin turned down a grad school scholarship? Or deferred it, or whatever? That’s insane. I can’t help but wonder if she’s like the spoiled sorority girls I see on every cruise, chattering about whether they should travel after graduation or work at that amazing internship their parents nabbed for them.
 

The waitress arrives with my drink. I down half of it and am about to start looking for Owen when my attention is caught by Yasmin and Elise’s conversation again. One of Elise’s hospitality friends, a British guy named Noel, makes a grab for Yasmin’s cell phone.
 

“Who is this?” he says with a grin. He must be flipping through her photos. “She’s sexy.”

“That’s Sofia. My sister.” Yasmin’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Can I have my phone back?”

“Oh, a sister? Younger or older?” he persists. “You should get her to work on board with us.”

“Um …” Yasmin starts to fidget.
 

“How about this. Let’s call her up. What’s her number?”
 

“She doesn’t have a number,” Yasmin says, her shoulders stiff.
 

“Give her the phone back,” Elise says sharply, and Noel finally does.
 

Owen’s nowhere to be seen, but I’m ready to roam the streets of Portales, so I settle up at the bar. Paolo and Ritchie, two of my photographers, chat with me for a couple minutes before I make an excuse to go. I’m already looking forward to seeing this little crumbling church I found last time. With a group of cumulus clouds rolling in overhead, I bet the building will photograph really well in the masked light.
 

Outside the bar, I glance around and pause. Yasmin’s standing a few paces to the right of the doors, her head bent over a map. She raises her head and spots me, then glances away quickly.
 

Is she avoiding me? I wonder if she’s mad about the Señorita Star Heart costume, but then I realize she doesn’t look angry. Are those tears in her eyes?

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping towards her.
 

“Nothing,” she says shortly, bending to her map again. Her expression is blank now, and I wonder if I imagined her distress. But her shoulders, left bare by her white tank top, are tense. I want to wrap my arms around her, but shake off the impulse. She doesn’t want comfort from me. I should just go.
 

“Lost?” I ask anyway.

She looks up again, but doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Sort of,” she says finally. “Where are you off to?”
 

I gesture to my camera. “Just around the town to take photographs.”

“Can I come?” she asks, surprising me. She pats her own camera bag. “I wanted to take a picture of the markets, and maybe find a bell tower.”
 

I hesitate. Usually I prefer to be alone on my photo treks, letting my solitude form a lens I can’t find with people around me. But I don’t like the idea of her roaming the town by herself. Portales is a pretty safe place, but it’s still a strange city to her, and Yasmin is an attractive girl. As her boss, I should keep an eye on her, right?
 

“Why not?” I hear myself say. “Let’s go.”
 

We head into the downtown area, the white beaches of the Mexican coast sprawling a few blocks behind us. The sound of the waves drifts into my ears even as we head farther away.
 

We walk in silence for a few minutes before Yasmin says, “So I heard the Hotel Director mention something about a job in Miami?”

I hesitate, but it’s not a secret, just not something I want gossiped about.

“Keep it quiet, but the corporate Star Heart bosses are looking for a shipboard department head to move to the Miami offices.”

“And you want that job?”

“I’m getting that job,” I say, as confidently as I can manage.
 

Yasmin glances at my bandage-covered bicep. “Is that why you were so stubborn about the photos last night? Because you wanted to impress the Hotel Director?”

“I’m not letting a rogue wave get in the way of that promotion.” I won’t let anything get in my way. As much as I love my parents, I’m not winding up like them, living paycheck to paycheck and going hungry more often than not.
 

Open-air tents bracket us as we reach the first stalls of the market. A few of the vendors offer up piles of bright fruit: papayas, limes, fat grapes, and huge bunches of bananas. Other vendors try to lure us in with more traditional tourist fare, like t-shirts and beaded necklaces. Yasmin stops at one of the fruit tents and clicks away at the assortment, getting a few close-ups of the grapes before snapping a couple wider shots.
 

I’ve got plenty of fruit photographs, so I just lean against a wall and watch her. She’s no artist, though she’s a pretty good photographer. I could teach her some tricks, but right now I just want to look. Yasmin’s hair is loose today, a glossy dark wave over her bare shoulders, her expression intent as she frames her shot. Wearing a soft pink skirt and simple white tank top—I can just see the straps of the turquoise bra I remember vividly from earlier—she shouldn’t be as hot as she was this morning in the belly-baring, cleavage-tastic señorita costume, but impossibly, she’s even sexier. I want to push her against the nearest fruit stand and …

I shake my head to clear it. Nothing’s going to happen with Yasmin; I’m confident I can keep my cool. After all, if I can turn down Camelia, I can turn down anyone. But I can’t help admiring Yasmin’s legs, and hiding a grin—she’s wearing those wedge heels again.

Once we move on, turning into an alley, Yasmin throws another look at my bandaged arm.
 

“Is this corporate job worth bleeding for?” she asks skeptically.

“It’s salaried. Not hourly, not based on commission. Salaried, with benefits.” My dad never had that. Neither did my mom. Growing up like I did, having a salaried job is almost like magic, where a set amount of money flows into your bank account every two weeks. That’s security right there. “So, yes.”

“At what point would getting hurt not be worth it?” she presses. “A broken arm?”

“I need my arm to take pictures. Maybe a foot.” I’m only half-joking. It must show, because Yasmin draws up short, a frown knitting her brows together.

“You’re not serious, are you? No job is worth that, unless you’re a soldier or something. Not some paper-pushing nine-to-five.”

She says that last part with such disdain, and I bristle.
 

“I realize that in the land of sororities and college coeds, people will line up to give you jobs—”

“Not in this economy,” she interjects.

“—but in the real world, people have to make their own luck. People like me, anyway. To you, a job is just something to play with. Hell, you’ve got a scholarship for grad school, someone wants to
give you money
to take classes, and yet you’re out here taking pictures for pennies. That doesn’t make sense.”

Yasmin’s eyes darken with a flash of something I almost think is pain, but it’s gone before I can be sure. “How do you know about the scholarship?” she asks.

“I heard you and Elise talking about it.”
 

She crosses her arms.
 

“You think I’m some spoiled princess, don’t you?”

I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly and get a hold of myself before I say something I’ll regret.

“Spoiled? No. But I’m guessing you grew up middle class where college was a given and you always had health insurance. If your car ever broke down, you could take it to the shop with your parents’ money. You can’t possibly understand someone like me, who grew up thinking ramen noodles were their own food group.” Not wanting to continue this conversation, I turn and head down the alley, leaving her to follow or not.